Daryl
by Zephyrfox
Summary: All Daryl Dixon wanted was venison for dinner. What he got was another damn mouth to feed. Daryl's take on his first scene in the show, episode 3, season 1.


Daryl kept a wary eye out for walkers, all senses alert, as he tracked his deer through the woods. He was angry at himself that he hadn't been able to kill the deer outright, but at least the fool thing was heading towards the camp. He smirked. After he killed it, he wouldn't have far to drag it. Venison stew for dinner sounded awful good.

Voices shouted up ahead, coming from near the camp. _What the hell?_ He frowned, putting on a burst of speed just as the voices quieted down.

"...They never come this far up the mountain." That was Dale. Who was he talking about?

"Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what," Jim answered.

_Fuck._ Walkers? And the deer's tracks were going right in the middle of that. Daryl slipped out of the trees to see what was going on. He paused, startled, when he realized he faced half a dozen weapons held by the others, brandished in his direction. There was a new face among them, too. Daryl suppressed a groan. They'd gone and picked up another damn stray, and wasn't that just fucking great? Another mouth to feed. He was fixing to say something snarky about warm welcomes when he spotted his deer. On the ground. Half eaten. Aw, _shit._ That was good food, _meat,_ tainted by that goddamn walker. Daryl had gone hungry enough times that he was furious at the waste. That deer would have lasted for days, even feeding the whole group. "Son of a bitch."

"Oh, Jesus."

Daryl stalked towards his deer, ignoring the old man's words. What the hell was his problem, anyway? "That's _my_ deer! Look at it. All gnawed on by this…" He kicked the walker in time with his words. "Filthy, disease-bearing, motherless poxy bastard!"

"Calm down, son. That's not helping." Dale's reasonable 'let's be sensible about this' tone set him on edge.

He stalked forward to confront Dale and snarled, "What do you know about it, old man? Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to 'On Golden Pond'? I've been tracking this deer for miles. Gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison."

He stopped, the corner of his mouth curling up, as an idea struck him. He'd get back at them for threatening him when he came out of the woods, like he was another walker. He turned back towards his deer, gesturing towards it as he spoke. "What do you think? Do you think we can cut around this chewed up part right here?"

There was stunned silence from the group, until Shane said dryly, "I would not risk that."

Daryl huffed, pleased that he'd shocked them, at least a little bit. "That's a damn shame. I got some squirrel… about a dozen or so. That'll have to do." Movement caught his eye as the walker's head started to snap its teeth. He scoffed. These idiots couldn't even kill a walker properly.

"Oh, God," Amy whimpered, cowering closer to her older sister. Andrea put an arm around her and guided her away from the group.

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Come on, people. What the hell?" He aimed his crossbow at the head and let an arrow fly. "It's gotta be the brain. Don't y'all know nothing?"

He settled the crossbow on his shoulder, shaking his head as he went towards the path to camp, leaving the others staring after him, open mouthed. He called for his brother as he got close, wondering where the hell Merle was. It wasn't like his brother to miss the action like this. If nothing else, his brother loved to jeer at the other survivors. "Merle! _Merle!_ Get your ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up."

Shane followed him, saying something Daryl couldn't be bothered with. A thin thread of worry worked its way through him as he scanned the camp, seeing no sign of his brother. His shoulders hunched automatically. Was Merle ignoring him, because he was too incompetent to bring a deer down without losing it to a walker? Or had something happened? Maybe Merle was sick? He needed to find his brother, to make sure Merle was okay.

He stopped short when Shane got in front of him. "Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you."

That sounded suspicious. Shane hadn't ever had anything to say to him about anything before. And where the hell was Merle? "About what?"

Shane hesitated, not meeting his eyes at first. "About Merle. There was a… There was a problem in Atlanta."

Daryl took a careful breath, feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of freezing cold water over him. He forced his feet to move, walking away from Shane, trying to show he was unaffected by the news. "He dead?" What the hell was he gonna do without his brother?

Shane shrugged, like the bastard didn't care. "We're not sure."

What the hell? That didn't make no sense. He whirled on Shane. "He either is or he ain't!"

The new stray stepped forward, drawing Daryl's attention. "No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it."

Daryl looked him up and down, sneering. "Who are you?"

"Rick Grimes."

There was no way in hell he wanted to hear what this man had to say. Daryl stood tall, doing his best threatening loom. "Rick Grimes, you got something you want to tell me?"

Rick took a pace forward, not back. Man had balls facing him in this mood. "Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there."

"Hold on." Daryl shook his head unable to believe what he heard. "Let me process this. You're saying you handcuffed my _brother _to a _roof _and you _left him there?!" _

Rick shrugged a bit. "Yeah."

Daryl roared, full of rage. He threw the string of squirrels at the sonofabitch who left his brother to die, and launched his attack. If the group was willing to abandon Merle, their best fighter, how long would it be before they decided to abandon Merle's useless brother?

Shane tackled him before he could even get close to the new guy. The next thing Daryl knew, he was on the ground. Two on one, was it? Well, that was fine. Merle had taught him — painfully — how to fight dirty. He rolled back to his feet, pulling his knife out, and went to attack Rick again.

T-Dog yelled, "Hey! Watch the knife!"

Daryl bared his teeth and took a swipe at Rick, causing the other man to dance back out of the way. Before he could go after his opponent — the bastard who left his brother to _die_, Shane came out of nowhere and grabbed him.

"Okay. Okay." Shane's arm snaked around Daryl's chest, holding him so he could just barely move.

Daryl struggled harder, panicked. Was this when they'd kill him, too? Was this what they'd done to his brother? "You'd best let me go!" He couldn't keep the anger and panic out of his voice.

"Nah," Shane's arm shifted upward, putting pressure on Daryl's throat. "I think it's better if I don't."

His hand's scrabbled at Shane's arm, trying to figure out how to get away. "Choke hold's illegal."

"You can file a complaint." Shane wrestled him until he was sitting on the ground. "Come on, man. We'll keep this up all day."

Daryl panted, trying to catch his breath.

Rick crouched down, getting right in his face. "I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that?"

He didn't bother to answer, so the bastard repeated himself. "Do you think we can manage that?"

Shane hummed questioningly in his ear. "Well?"

Daryl shoved down his fear. Maybe they would let him go. Probably kick him out of the group. He'd be on his own, but at least he'd survive. "Yeah." Best get it over with. He didn't have much to pack. Just needed to grab his bag and he'd be outta there.

Shane released him with a shove. Daryl shot a scowl at him before focusing back on Rick.

"What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work and play well with others."

It was all Daryl could do not to snort. That sure as hell wasn't news to him. He'd taken the brunt of his brother's assholery his whole life. That didn't mean he wanted to see his brother dead.

"It's not Rick's fault. I had the key. I dropped it." It was T-Dog, looking like he was embarrassed.

Daryl rounded on him in disbelief. "You couldn't pick it up?"

"Well, I dropped it in a drain."

Incompetent son of a — "If it's supposed to make me feel better, it don't."

"Well, maybe this will." T-Dog watched him with a hopeful expression.

What in hell was he looking hopeful for? Forgiveness? Like hell. Daryl may not have always liked his brother, and Merle had never thought much of _him,_ but they always held to a united front against outsiders.

"Look, I chained the door to the roof. With a padlock. So the geeks couldn't get at him, y'know? It's gotta count for something." T-Dog's voice was as pleading as his expression.

The whole thing just didn't sit right with Daryl. He was expected to just _forgive_ them? Fuck, no. He got to his feet. "Hell with all y'all! Just tell me where he is so's I can go get him."

They all stared at him. Fuck them. He'd go by himself. He didn't need anyone. He just needed to get his brother.

Then Lori spoke. "He'll show you. Isn't that right?"

Rick nodded, as if making a solemn vow. "I'm going back. We'll get Merle back."

Daryl watched them, confused. What the hell was going on? They'd left his brother to die, and now they wanted to go get him? "Okay. Okay. We'll do that." And when he had his brother, they'd light out of there with everything they could take. No sense risking this happening again.


End file.
